


Sausalito

by Starlinghue



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: Airports, Awkwardness, Coming Out, Friends to Lovers, Grief/Mourning, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Star Wars References, Tourism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2020-12-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:13:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28410705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlinghue/pseuds/Starlinghue
Summary: After receiving an email from his late father's ex-boyfriend claiming to have a box of his father's things, Greg decides to fly out to California and pick them up in person. And despite the fact the two of them haven't really spoken since Kendall's press conference, Tom decides to go with him.
Relationships: Greg Hirsch/Tom Wambsgans
Comments: 27
Kudos: 65





	Sausalito

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to try and get this done by the holiday season, because even this fic isn't set in winter, I think the themes of coming home and confronting some painful truths are pretty fitting for this time of year.
> 
> I also feel bad for for killing Greg's dad for the sake of this fic's plot... Keep on thotting it up in heaven, king.

If anyone asked, which they rarely ever did, Gregory Hirsch would always claim he had no clear memory of his father. It wasn't a total lie— his father had left before he was eight, and had died before he was twelve. He didn't remember much of him.

But he did remember a little.

The clearest memory was of a trip to Myrtle Beach, the summer right before he left. The boardwalk was sandy beneath their feet. Greg was already tall for his age, too tall, and his father would occasionally touch the back of his head and give it a playful push, like he was hoping it would shrink him back down a few inches.

They didn't go swimming that day. His father bought ice cream and they sat at a picnic table and watched the tourists go by while they ate. It was just the two of them. Greg couldn't remember what his mother had been doing instead.

"You've got to learn how to look at people," his father told him, pointing at the crowded beach. "I wonder if half of them are as happy as they're pretending to be."

What Greg's father didn't know was that Greg was already pretty good at looking at people. He was a quiet kid, and when he didn't have a book or a gameboy on hand, there wasn't much else for him to do.

"Are you happy?" Greg asked, because it had seemed like the right kind of question at the time.

His father gave him a funny look. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

Greg remembered shrugging, but he didn't remember anything else about that day. Just the sun on his neck, and the sand between his toes.

\---

The email caught him off guard, to say the least. It had been seventeen years since his father died, and Greg remembered the funeral with more clarity than he remembered his face. Upon reading the message, he understood what people meant when they said it felt like they had seen a ghost.

_I've been meaning to reach out for some time, but I wasn't sure if you'd appreciate it. Then I saw you on the news and decided to take it as a sign. It's been a while, so I know you probably don't remember me, you were just a kid when we met. Anyways, what I've been meaning to say is that I have some of your father's things, mostly old photo albums. I held onto them all this time because it was all I had left of him, but I think that was selfish of me. You have a right to his belongings, as his son. If you want them, I'd be happy to mail a package to you. Or if you've got plans to come up to the west coast any time soon, feel free to drop in and pick them up. It might be nice to chat in person._

The email came from a man named Paul Schultz, and as much as Greg wanted to believe he was being catfished so that he could ignore it, he remembered who Paul was. He'd shaken his hand at his father's funeral. He'd been wearing glasses. Nobody had to tell him that Paul had been his father's lover— Greg had just known. A gut feeling, now confirmed nearly two decades later.

"So, what should I do?" Greg asked, after relaying the whole story to Kendall. It wasn't like his cousin was his first choice for advice on personal shit like this, but seeing as they were in cahoots for an elaborate company takeover, Greg figured it couldn't hurt to run it by him.

To his credit, Kendall looked like he was trying _really_ hard to react to this information like a normal human being. Doing his best to play the part of a sympathetic friend. They were smoking in Greg's living room and Kendall even put down his joint, looking thoughtful. "I mean, it's tough. I know your dad wasn't great. We can hire a personal courier to go pick up his stuff so that it doesn't get lost in the mail, if that's a concern."

"I was thinking that maybe I should go and talk to the guy?" Greg admitted, more than a little uncertain. "I mean, I feel like I owe it to him. He's the one that reached out, so he's probably hoping that we both get some sort of closure from this, or whatever."

Kendall leaned back in his seat, slowly, seriously. Sliding into his business face. "Hey, man, I've got grease in the wheels over here because of you. If this is something that you need to do, I support it. Things are moving up for us, but it's still early stages. I've still got some people to talk to, some connections to pull. I think I can spare you for a few days if you make this trip."

"Yeah?" Greg still didn't feel relieved. "You think I should go?"

"I think you should do whatever you need to do to clear your head," Kendall picked his joint back up and took a long, punctuating drag. "Can't have shit like this weighing on you a year later. Better to rip the band-aid off, right?"

Greg nodded wearily, "Right."

Half smiling, Kendall added, "If this guy gives you any trouble, I'll send someone to rescue you. Car, helicopter, boat. You name it."

Knowing that did make Greg feel a little better. "Thanks, Ken."

\---

He didn't even think of asking for Tom's opinion on this entire debacle until he was at the airport a week later. It just struck him, suddenly, stupidly, that of course Tom would have something to say about all this. He was the only friend Greg had who knew about all the shit that happened with his dad. And he knew because Greg had actually _told_ him about it. His cousins were all aware of the gossip, of course, all the rumours passed down from Logan and Caroline. They made their shitty little jokes about his parents, but Greg had at least been able to pride himself on knowing that they didn't have the full story. They didn't know all the gritty details.

Tom knew all the gritty details. Hell, Tom might've been the only friend that Greg had ever willingly talked to about his father. Which was kind of depressing, really, since he hadn't even told him about it when he was sober.

Greg ended up calling him from the airport terminal, when the boredom of waiting on his flight finally caught up to him. He had three more hours to go. If Tom didn't pick up, he was going to go buy a ridiculously overpriced snack, and then maybe a book. But Tom did pick up, halfway through the fourth ring.

"Hey there, Judas. How's life been treating you?"

Greg laughed awkwardly. He'd forgotten how weird the press conference had made things, especially since Kendall had poached him as a personal assistant. But Tom had seemed kind of distracted when he'd quit, like the news hadn't even registered to him. He'd just robotically wished Greg well and let him go pack up his office, and they hadn't really seen each other since. That had been nearly a month ago. "Uh, hey Tom. It's been intense. I'm actually about to fly out to California."

Tom scoffed, and Greg was surprised by how much he had missed the sound of it. "California? What, are you and Kendall scoping out vineyards for your destination wedding?"

"God, he's my cousin, don't be weird." It was a lot easier to get frustrated with Tom over the phone, since he didn't have to deal with looking at every sensitive flicker of emotion across his face. And now that he wasn't his boss anymore, it was a lot easier to be rude to him, too. "No, uh, I'm actually going to Sausalito."

"Sausalito?" Tom's voice perked up, and Greg knew that he had just earned his undivided attention. "You mean that charming little coastal town that your Dad decided to play gay Hugh Hefner in?"

Wincing at the joke, Greg sighed. "That's the one."

"Sorry, that was below the belt." Tom at least had the decency to sound embarrassed. "Why the fuck are you going to Sausalito? Isn't that place kind of— and you'll have to forgive my wording here— tainted for you?"

"It is," Greg huffed out a laugh, feeling only just a little bit hysterical. "But my dad's ex boyfriend contacted me out of the blue and told me he had a box of his belongings. Photo albums and stuff. I dunno, I felt weird about getting it mailed or shipped or anything without even bothering to go and see the guy."

Tom was quiet for a minute. "So let me get this straight, you're flying to California and meeting up with this man, a practical stranger, all by yourself?"

"Yeah." Doubt clawed at Greg's stomach. "Is that crazy? Do you think I'm gonna get, like, murdered or something?"

"Well, I do now!" Tom sounded about as annoyingly worried as Greg felt. "Does Kendall know where you're going?"

"Well, yeah. He's kind of my boss now, so I was a little obligated to tell him? But he said it might be good for me to get closure, so he's like, being supportive about it. I'm at the airport now, and I said I'd keep in touch, but he's got a lot of meetings this week and I don't really know if I'm his biggest priority or anything—"

"Greg," Tom cut him off. "Which flight are you on?"

Dumbstruck, Greg relayed his ticket information.

"LaGuardia or JFK?"

"LaGuardia."

"Okay," Tom sucked in a breath, evidently stressed. "I can manage that, I think" 

"Uh," Greg gripped his phone tighter, worried it would slide out of his freshly sweaty palm. "What exactly are you managing?"

Tom didn't answer him. At least not directly. "Stay where you are. I'm gonna be there in like, an hour and forty minutes."

Greg didn't know how to react to that. "What?"

"Just stay put. If I can't can't get on your flight, we'll catch the next one."

Unable to help it, Greg choked out a laugh. "You're never going to get here in time. And you really don't need to come, I'll be fine. I don't think I'm in any actual, like, mortal peril? Emotional, maybe, but I doubt I'm gonna get mugged or anything."

"If I'm not there before you board, don't get on that plane. I'm serious, Greg, I'm on my way."

"Tom, what—?" He hung up before Greg could finish his question. For a full minute, Greg just sat there, utterly bewildered and staring at his phone.

There was no way. He couldn't be doing something _this fucking nice_ for Greg after he'd left him behind at ATN all high and dry like that. Tom wasn't exactly the forgiving type. He had once called Greg _No Foam_ for a solid week after he fucked up his coffee order, even though he drank the whole thing anyway. Chances were that he wasn't coming to Sausalito out of the goodness of his heart. He probably had some kind of agenda, some kind of angle to work.

If that was the case, then why was Greg getting goddamn butterflies in his stomach over it? Like, come on, fuck off.

Leaning back in the airport terminal's uncomfortable seat, Greg forced himself to remember that while yes, Tom was his friend, and yes he was marginally less shitty than everyone else in his life at the moment, there were still plenty of reasons that he shouldn't like him. Almost going to jail because he had made him part of a cover-up of incriminating documents was just one of many. Not to mention all the weird macho power plays and the borderline harassment that Greg had suffered as his employee. Tom was just an HR lawsuit waiting to happen.

Still, no matter how many times he tried to get himself to dislike Tom, no matter how many reasons Tom gave him, Greg just couldn't seem to push that fondness completely away. Sure, Tom was weird and emotionally repressed, and sure, he was insecure to the point where it gave him regular bouts of horrible verbal diarrhea, but Greg had gotten used to it. Just like he'd gotten used to Tom's occasional barrage of joke emails in the middle of the night, or his low voice imparting snippets of snide criticism in his ear, something that had once been so grating but he now found sort of comforting. Especially when they were being carted off to Europe and other high-end, fancy places where Tom was really the only ally he had. The other odd man out.

He liked Tom. He liked him a lot, in spite of it all. There had been more than a few occasions where Greg had entertained the idea of sucking his dick. It was mortifying, and he planned to take those intrusive thoughts to his grave, except that they weren't even half as embarrassing as the times he'd imagined doing something completely innocent— like kissing Tom's nose, or cooking him dinner. Possibly the most humiliating fantasy he'd entertained was a prolonged daydream of holding Tom's hand and walking down a public street. The type of stuff that usually cropped up in the happy relationship phase in the middle of a romantic comedy.

And now Tom was rushing to get to him before his plane took off. Go figure.

Sighing, Greg got to his feet and decided to go look for something to eat. Maybe an expensive muffin would be enough to distract him from these futile feelings. It was worth a shot, anyway.

\---

Tom made it to the terminal with only five minutes left before boarding. He looked considerably more disheveled and sweaty than usual.

"You really ran through an airport for me." Greg said, completely dumbstruck when Tom clapped his shoulder and slumped into the empty seat beside him.

"Obviously," Tom wheezed, then cleared his throat, getting a second wind. "I'm not about to let you get kidnapped and held hostage on some random guy's houseboat. Even though it probably would help Logan's case if word got out that Kendall had to pay your fucking ransom."

Greg chuckled at that. "I seriously don't think I'm in any danger. I mean, I appreciate your concern and everything, but you don't need to inconvenience yourself for my sake. Also I don't think that the houseboats are, like, mobile?"

Tom scrunched up his eyebrows and gave him a funny look. "Fuck off. Maybe I just wanted an excuse to get out of town for a few days."

It suddenly occurred to Greg that Tom had brought along a carry-on suitcase. If he had been at the office when Greg called, there was no way he could've gotten to the airport and through baggage claim that fast while also having made a pit stop at home to go grab some clothes.

"How long have you had that packed?" Greg asked, knowing it was a risky question.

"I'd rather not say." Tom replied evasively, which was an answer in its own right.

"Trouble in paradise?" Greg pressed, not sure what he was hoping to achieve. A spark of anger, a sad confirmation. Anything to give him a glimmer of false hope.

"Greg," Tom said coldly. "Just drop it."

And though he was burning with curiosity, Greg did as he was told.

\---

The flight itself wasn't bad, per se, but as soon as the plane took off, a feeling of dread pooled in the pit of Greg's stomach and froze up like a block of ice. It hadn't really hit him that he was going home. He hadn't considered California, or really any state he had lived in afterwards, as a home for years. Not since his mom had moved them both up to Montreal when he was thirteen. But when he thought about his childhood, the earliest he could possibly remember, he always thought about his parents' house in San Francisco. Every memory was bleary, rose tinted and faded at the edges. Greg could recall a wooden banister and carpeted stairs, and a kitchen island that he had been proud to outgrow when he was seven.

It was only natural, Greg supposed, that he started thinking about his father. Not anything consequential, just little things. Like the fact that he had broad hands with hairy knuckles. The way that he'd called him _Sport_ when he was in a good mood. Thoughts were beginning to build themselves up in a way that made Greg feel very emotionally precarious. In fact, he kind of felt like throwing up.

Tom's seat wasn't anywhere near him. Though he'd somehow managed to score a first class ticket, he was at least three rows in front of Greg. Since looking to him for any kind of distraction wasn't an option, Greg decided to make do with one of the in-flight movies. He picked something stupid, the first thing he saw with a former SNL comedian attached to it. It wasn't really funny, but it kept him occupied for a couple of hours. He ended up watching two more sub-par comedies before the plane landed.

The Oakland airport was packed, and it didn't help that it was a surprisingly humid day. Tom began complaining non-stop as soon as Greg was back within earshot. 

"I feel like an oven baked turd," Tom grumbled as they made their way to baggage claim. "Why are airplane naps so nauseating? And now there's some sort of repugnant taste in my mouth. Do you have any gum?"

"No, sorry." Greg was already completely burnt out. He didn't know how he was going to make it to the hotel in one piece, let alone what he was going to do with Tom now that he was there. "Hey, where are you gonna stay tonight? I've got a room at the Holiday Inn, but I don't know if that's, like, up to your standards or anything."

"Going slumming, are we?" Tom drawled sarcastically. "Come on, Greg, I've slept in worse places. That shit tier plane we were just on, for example. I'll get a room there, too."

As someone who had once spent the night in a church pew, Greg didn't think that Tom _had_ ever slept in a truly uncomfortable position once in his life, but he kept that thought to himself.

They took a cab into the city, because Greg didn't really feel up to renting a car and driving on an unfamiliar highway in unforgiving Californian traffic. It was more than a bit cramped sharing a backseat with Tom— they were both tall, and the cab they'd hailed wasn't exactly the kind of car that was built for them. For forty minutes, their knees, elbows and shoulders bumped into each other with every press of the breaks. Greg apologized the first few times but eventually gave up on it, just getting used to the unsteady rhythm of contact. To stop himself from staring at Tom, he turned his attention to the window, keeping an eye on the road signs.

"Anything look familiar?" Tom eventually asked, stirring Greg out of the unfocused glaze he'd settled into.

"Not really," he admitted. "I'm sure once we get in the city things will start coming back to me."

And sure enough, the twist of the highway exit felt surreal and familiar, and so did the first gas station they passed on the edge of the city. Greg could vaguely recall stopping there with his mom, waiting for her to fill up the tank while he played his Nintendo DS in the backseat. The further they got into town, the more Greg felt like he was stepping into a memory. Some things were different— a couple of new buildings here and there, and the colours of everything being a bit duller than he remembered— but for the most part, it was all the same.

It felt weird to be back. It felt _wrong_.

Nervously drumming his fingers over his knee, Greg blurted, "When we left, my mom sort of swore we'd never be back again. Kind of feels like I'm breaking a rule."

Tom regarded him evenly, for once seeming to pause and consider what he was about to say before the words came out of his mouth. "I take it you didn't tell her about this little trip?"

"No," Greg frowned. "It would only upset her."

"I don't see why it should. You're an adult, you should be allowed to do whatever you like without getting a lecture from Mommy."

Greg gave Tom a long, level stare. "I don't think you really wanna go there, man."

"What? The subject of domineering women?" Tom sneered derisively. "No, I guess I don't "

Frustration took the form of a dry lump in the base of Greg's throat. He did his best to clear it out, glaring at his feet. "Are you going to be like this the whole time? Because you really didn't have to come."

When he dared to look back up, Tom's whole face seemed to twitch with an incomprehensible emotion. He looked at Greg, and then at the back of the driver's head, and then at Greg again.

"You never apologized." Tom finally said, sounding small. The words were pathetic, even to his own ears, and his face flushed with shame as Greg gawked at him in open shock.

When Greg's brain managed to start working again, he could only seem to splutter. "Wha— Well, neither did you!"

" _This_ is my apology, you idiot!" Tom hissed, gesturing between them. "I'm offering support in what I imagine is a very emotionally distressing time for you! To make up for all the emotionally distressing times that I put you through myself! You know, even Steven, and all that bullshit."

"That's not how _feelings_ work, Tom." Greg laughed lightly, incredulously. "You can't just stack up a bunch of gestures and hope it communicates something. I'm not, like, a fucking mind reader or anything."

"Clearly not," Tom looked mortified. "Otherwise you'd be the most obtuse psychic that ever lived. A TLC original series level telepath."

Greg huffed. "Are you apologizing to me or not?"

"I am!" Tom nearly shouted, then much more quietly, embarrassedly, he repeated, "I am."

"Okay," Greg relented, fondness flooding him. "I'm sorry, too. I hated how we left things. And I really hated how I left."

"It was awful of you," Tom massaged his temples like he was willing away a headache. "It hit like a bullet to the fucking gut, Greg. You abandoned me while I was bleeding out in my office chair."

"You didn't say anything," Greg still felt guilty, in spite of himself. "After the press conference, I thought— Well, it was almost like you didn't care? You just sort of iced me out."

"Of course I cared," Tom winced as he said it. "I just didn't want to go all nuclear on you again. Pelting you with water bottles wasn't exactly a high moment for me. I don't know, I guess I was trying to let things cool over for a bit. And need I remind you that I was also dealing with the whole Kendall fallout on top of you deciding to jump ship?"

"Yeah, okay, I get that. The water bottle thing really sucked." Greg sighed, a long exhale through his nose. "But honestly, the cold shoulder and silent treatment wasn't much better. Because I kind of missed you? Like, an unreasonable amount."

It was a stupid thing to admit out loud, but apparently it had been the right thing to say. Tom smiled softly, looking almost pained, and then he reached over and grabbed Greg's wrist. He squeezed it once, gently, before letting go.

"I missed you, too, buddy."

They spent the rest of the car ride in silence, and when they finally got to the hotel, Tom tipped the driver generously. He made a point of showing Greg a record of the payment on his phone as he did it, probably to demonstrate how far he'd come since that time they'd gone out for dinner and drinks and he hadn't tipped their waitress. Greg had sort of chastised him over it back then, and though Tom had brushed him off, clearly he _had_ gotten through to him. It was kind of ridiculous how happy it made Greg to know that.

Since it was only late spring, just before tourist season, there turned out to be plenty of vacancies at the Holiday Inn. Tom picked a room on the fifth floor, which was two floors over Greg's and had a view of the city rather than a view of the parking lot. It was nearly eight o'clock at night— Pacific Standard Time, so roughly three hours behind New York— and Greg was already feeling exhausted. He was honestly ready to just crash in his room until morning, going to bed with an empty stomach, but of course Tom suggested that they go out for dinner.

"There are lots of restaurants within walking distance," Tom said, lightly smacking Greg's arm before he could flee the reception desk in the hotel lobby. "Come on, let's stretch those gangly legs."

Greg couldn't refuse him. Mostly because he was hungry, but also partly due to the fact that he didn't want to argue with Tom when they had just resolved all that unspoken tension that had been sitting between them for a month. 

"Fine, but I get to pick where we eat."

Raising an eyebrow, Tom seemed to concede him that. They headed for the elevator, quietly parting ways to drop off their bags in their respective rooms. Once alone, Greg typed the first restaurant he could think of into Google maps, and then memorised the path. It was only eight minutes away on foot.

The walk itself was uneventful. Both of them were pretty beat, and Tom didn't seem to have anything witty to say about the sparse stretch of buildings surrounding the hotel area, which were either tourist centers or fast food chains. When they finally got to the restaurant, however, Tom laughed. A low, genuine sound.

"Greg, _no_. I'm vetoing this. Absolutely not."

"What's wrong?" Greg asked, blinking innocently.

"You're basically asking me to eat at Olive Garden."

"Lies! Lies and slander!" Greg gestured emphatically at their destination. "California Pizza Kitchen has some of the best food this side of the west coast, and I'm going to prove it to you."

"It's garbage," Tom was actually _pouting_. "You're asking me to eat marinated trash. We could be eating lobster."

"Yeah, but I don't want lobster." Greg shrugged. "Sometimes, you've just got to settle for pizza. Cheap, greasy, delicious pizza. At least it's honest with you and isn't, like, insanely expensive for something that doesn't even taste that good. You get what you pay for here."

Tom stared at him for a long moment, looking baffled and concerned. Then he sighed, hands on his hips, giving in. "Alright, fine. This is your trip, I'm just along for the ride. I'll try your dirty peasant pizza."

"You will?" Greg couldn't keep himself from beaming, caught in the throes of victory.

Scrunching up his nose in a way that was remarkably like his wife, Tom nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. "Let's just hurry up and get a table before I change my mind."

It wasn't crowded, seeing as it was a Tuesday night with only an hour before closing. Greg realized he and Tom must've made quite a pair, with their combined height, Tom's wrinkled, fancy work suit, and his own out of season Ralph Lauren sweater. It wasn't weird to dress this way in New York, but here it just felt kind of forcefully rich. Ostentatious, really. Greg wished he was wearing a polo shirt and sandals.

He ordered his personal favourites from the menu for them to split; the Sicilian style pizza and a two Cajun chicken linguinis. Appalled, Tom asked if it was completely necessary that they share the same meal, and Greg insisted that he was picking the _best_ options for them, which made Tom laugh. Even if it was in a mean kind of way, it was infectious, and Greg found himself smiling right up until the waitress came back with their food.

"And now, the moment of truth." Tom said dramatically, rolling his eyes when Greg leaned forward in his seat with interest. Tom carved into the chicken linguini first, taking a generously large bite. Greg watched his face carefully, but Tom was doing a very good job at keeping it slack, holding the suspense.

Unable to stand the purgatory of Tom's chewing for any longer, Greg asked, "You like it?"

Tom narrowed his eyes. He pulled his lips back in a grimace, and then sighed, sitting up straight. Defeat marked every line of his face. "That's fucking delicious."

Greg grinned to the point where it hurt his cheeks. "I told you, man, it's really good. Don't let the wrapper fool you."

Snorting like a disgruntled horse, Tom proceeded to shovel several more mouthfuls of pasta out of his bowl. Helping himself to his own plate, Greg almost missed it when Tom muttered, "The chicken's a little overcooked."

"I like it crispy," Greg retorted, but his mouth was full, so it sounded unintelligible. He swallowed, then added, "Beats eating songbirds."

"Definitely not as boney, I'll give you that." Tom clicked his tongue against his teeth. "I'm livid, I would actually go out of my way to eat this again. You're dismantling my entire worldview."

Laughing, Greg reached for the pizza. "Just wait until I make you try Taco Bell."

"Don't even joke about that."

When they finished their meal, Greg didn't question the fact that he was paying for both of them, but was pleasantly surprised when Tom fished out a couple of bills for the tip. Again, he made a big show of it, slapping the money on the table like he was folding in a high stakes poker game. He seemed embarrassed when Greg kept smiling at him afterwards.

All in all, it had been a pretty nice evening. So, of course, when they were walking back to the hotel, Shiv called. Greg knew it was her, because it was like a curtain had been pulled over Tom's face when he checked the caller ID on his phone.

"I've gotta take this," he said, dry and toneless. "You go ahead without me." 

"You sure you can find your way back okay?" Greg asked, knowing how dumb and overly concerned it sounded. They were less than a block away, and the hotel was the tallest building in the area.

Tom gave him a pointed look. "I'll be fine."

What he was really saying was _fuck off_ , and Greg got the message loud and clear. He nodded tensely, and then left Tom alone on the street, the last traces of fading light from the sunset making him look like some sort of portrait of corporate solitude.

As he walked, Greg could hear Tom's voice as he picked up the phone echoing in his ears, lighthearted and utterly fake. _"Hi, Honey!"_

\---

It had been weeks, maybe months, since Greg had let himself wake up naturally. Honestly, it was kind of a surprise when he checked the phone and saw that it was nine a.m, but then he remembered the time difference and realized this would've been noon in New York, which frankly, made more sense. His mom used to get on his case for being a late sleeper when he was a kid. She used to say was wasting the best hours of the day. Greg still didn't really get what she meant by that. He couldn't bring himself to be a morning person no matter how hard his schedule had tried to convert him over the past year.

After showering and brushing his teeth, Greg paced around the hotel room and debated what to wear. He wanted to look nice, since he was meeting up with Paul to get his dad's stuff later, but not _too_ nice because he didn't want to look like an asshole. He settled for a patterned button-down t-shirt and a pair of dark jeans, both of which he'd bought at H&M before his paychecks had really started to add up and he'd started branching out to Hilfiger and Burberry.

As he texted Tom to let him know he was heading down to the hotel restaurant for continental breakfast, it occurred to Greg that Tom might not even be in California anymore. If Shiv had wanted something from him, if she had asked him to come home— he might have just rushed off without a second thought. The idea made Greg's stomach turn unpleasantly 

_Save me a cheap muffin._ Tom texted back two minutes later, before Greg had even made it out the door and to the elevator. Relieved, Greg sent him a thumbs up emoji, and tried to fight back a smile.

"Keep it together, Gregory." He whispered to himself, raking his hands over his cheeks and through his hair. "Big day ahead. Big day."

He wished that he had thought to look up places that sold weed in the area, since it was legal here. It seemed kind of silly to make a detour for it now, but the thought of treating himself to a blunt after getting his dad's stuff was weirdly comforting. Greg honestly didn't know if he could handle the emotions that were coming his way if he remained completely sober.

Worse, he was afraid he wouldn't feel anything at all. He'd been numb to his father's death for so long that a part of him was worried that there just wasn't any grief left for him to work though. Which was stupid, really, because he knew it wasn't true.

By the time Tom found him at the breakfast bar, Greg was still struggling to decide if he wanted pancakes or if he could just settle for cereal. Tom bumped their shoulders together as he stepped up beside him, smirking when Greg met his gaze.

"Will you let me pick where we eat this time?"

Greg complied, mostly because not knowing where they were headed would take his mind off things. Apparently, Tom had already done a cursory Google search of the highest rated restaurants in Sausalito.

"Ever been to the Lighthouse Café?" Tom asked as they waited in the parking lot for their Uber. "According to Yelp, it's quite the tourist trap."

"I think so? I remember getting waffles with Dad one time. It's all kind of foggy, we traveled a lot."

"Oh? Worldly, were we?"

Greg laughed, because even if it was meant to sound mocking, no one had ever accused him of that before. "I guess? Mostly it was just back and forth between here and Canada. And then my mom and I were all over the place for a bit after the divorce. Anywhere but here."

Glancing sideways at him, Tom leaned back on his feet. "You don't blame this Paul guy for breaking up their marriage?"

"No," Greg replied, and he really meant it. "Them splitting up wasn't his fault. My dad wasn't happy. Or, you know, straight."

Tom nodded, looking like he had more to ask but thinking better of it. Maybe it was because of that that Greg kept talking.

"Kendall kind of reminds me of him a little bit, you know? With how he is with drugs. And how he's just kind of sad all the time? Don't tell him I told you that, but I think he already kind of gets it. When we were kids, we only met, like, once, but he was sort of the only one that was nice to me. About my dad, I mean."

Things were quiet for a moment. Greg wondered if Tom was figuring out how to use that information as leverage.

"Is that why you left?" Tom finally asked, gentler than Greg was expecting. "Besides the obvious solution to saving your own hide, I mean. You wanted to keep an eye on Kendall?"

"Well, yes and no." Greg felt weird talking about this, and was regretting saying anything in the first place. "I really do believe that the company needs to change, you know? Like, it needs to be rebuilt from the ground up. And maybe Kendall's a little green, and a bit old-school Wall Street to be running the place, but he _needs_ it. Roman and Shiv, they'd be okay anywhere else, they can handle being cut loose, but Ken? He needs the company, either to kill it or to change it, I don't know. But without it, he's lost, and if he stays lost, he'll probably end up washed up with a skull full of coke. So, yeah, I left because I thought it was the right thing to do, but I guess I also had ulterior motives. Like wanting to keep my cousin alive and out of jail."

A bit sheepish that he'd blurted out so much, Greg looked at his feet. When he looked back up, Tom was staring at him, one hand on his hip and the other shielding the sun from his eyes. "That's a lot to unpack before breakfast."

"Sorry," Greg mumbled, toeing the pavement. "You asked."

"No, don't be sorry." Tom laughed, but it sounded kind of broken. He pinched the bridge of his nose and signed. "God, Greg, you're like— you're the nicest slimey person I've ever met. It's infuriating, it really is."

Greg didn't know how to respond to that. After a beat, he tried to make a joke. "That Uber sure is taking a while."

Tom laughed again, this time with a little more life to it. "You know, Logan has been trying to figure out how to take you down? He thinks his brother is secretly pulling your strings."

"My grandpa?" Greg was a bit shocked to hear that. "He hasn't even spoken to me since he cut my inheritance."

"Yeah, that's what I thought. But no one ever listens to me." Tom sighed, then perked up when a new car pulled into the lot. "I think that's our ride."

Suddenly, Greg was feeling quite panicked. "So, when you say Logan wants to _take me down_ , do you mean, like, to jail? Or out of the country? Or—"

"Don't worry about it," Tom waved his hand dismissively. "I told Shiv to get the idea out of his head. It pissed her off, because she wanted you as a sacrificial lamb, but I put up quite a fight on your behalf. You're welcome."

That explanation only made Greg feel more alarmed, not to mention confused. "What?"

"Allow me to put it in layman's terms— I stuck my neck out on the chopping block for you, even though you don't even work for me anymore. You know those documents from cruises that you kept? Yeah, well, I told Shiv that it was my fault they didn't get destroyed in the first place, thus redirecting Logan's fury onto me. So now I'm the one getting punished instead, and no lawyers or paid-off tabloid rags are coming after you. Again, I reiterate, _you're welcome_."

Greg was speechless. The Uber driver parked in front of them, and while Tom quickly confirmed his identity, somehow, Greg found himself getting into the car in a state of stunned silence.

"What's going to happen to you?" He asked when Tom was buckled in beside him.

"I don't know," Tom looked exhausted. "A few years in Hong Kong, maybe? Or a formal resignation? Something that will make me look as worthless as I am."

Greg didn't know what to say.

"Don't make it into a big thing," Tom's expression was downright bashful. "It's the least I could do, the literal bare minimum."

Greg just stared at him. He couldn't help it. "Dude, when we get out of this car, I'm going to hug you."

"Please don't."

"Too late, my mind's already made up. I'll do it right now." Greg leaned sideways in his seat, arms extended. Tom swatted at him, but didn't completely shove him away, so Greg awkwardly managed to loop them both into a sideways embrace. "Thank you."

Tom huffed out a sigh, one hand coming up to lightly pat Greg on the back. "I told you, it was nothing. Now ease up there, tiger, you're breathing on my neck."

"Sorry," Greg gracelessly extracted himself. "But seriously, thanks."

Eyes rolling, Tom said, "We've got to stop having heavy conversations like this while we're in the back of a fucking rideshare. It creates a very weird energy."

Their driver, a man named Joseph, piped up, "Nah, man, that was beautiful."

Greg had to bite back laughter as Tom visibly seethed in mortification. He sat fuming in horrified silence for the rest of the ride, and seemed to get even more abashed when he caught Greg smiling at him.

Tom kept pouting until they got to the restaurant. It was kind of hard not to be taken in by the Lighthouse Café's kitschy charm. Greg told him that he _did_ remember eating there as a kid, because the memory came back to him in foggy lapses while they waited to be led to a free table.

"Dad brought me here as, like, a brunch treat." Greg furrowed his brows as he took the seat with the back facing the window, trying to recall the day with more clarity. "We drove in from San Francisco. He loved eating out for breakfast. I guess that's just kind of a general dad thing, though."

"Really? My dad was more of a dinner guy." Tom leaned back on his feet, lifting an eyebrow. "You never told me you grew up in San Fran."

"I didn't, really. At least I don't feel like I did? Like I said, we traveled a _lot_ , so mostly I remember hotels. But yeah, we had a house there. Before Canada, obviously. On one of those really steep streets, too. I tried to ride down it on my skateboard once, and my mom flipped out."

Tom smiled fondly at that, and warmth spread through Greg's chest and up to his ears. "I can't really imagine you as a kid. I mean, I can, but you must've always been tall. A little string bean."

Greg shrugged, pushing his hair back so that it wasn't hanging over his face. "Paul said my dad had old pictures in with his stuff, so maybe there's some of me in there? My mom never kept anything like that."

"No? There's loads of that kind of thing at my parents' house. My mother makes scrapbooks in her free time, we've got a whole bookshelf filled with old photo albums. She used to crack them out whenever I brought a girl home."

"That sounds nice," Greg smiled, trying to think of what Tom might've looked like as a kid, what kind of bad haircuts he might've had. "Embarrassing, but nice."

"What about your Mom? What does she do when you take your little girlfriends home to meet her?" Tom asked, curiously inspecting the salt and sugar packets at their table.

"Uh," Greg didn't know how to change the topic without drawing attention to it, so he just leaned into the awkwardness of the whole thing. "I've never brought a girl home. She's never met anybody that I've dated."

Eyes wide, Tom snapped his full attention back to Greg's face. "Really? Why not?"

"I've just never gone out with anyone long enough to, like, warrant that." It was Greg's turn to pick at the salt packets. "I didn't really date at all in high school, and when I did start in college, it was never that serious. And there hasn't really been anyone since I came to New York."

"Huh," Tom shook his head, leaning back in his seat. "I thought maybe— well, you had all those people over at your apartment that one time. I assumed you were out in the field, so to speak."

By _that one time_ , Greg knew Tom was referring to the night that he'd self-imposed a sleepover at his place with the intent to scare him into destroying all the cruise documents. "No, it wasn't like that. That was like, a work get together. But they were middle floor employees, so that's probably why you didn't recognize any of them."

"Shit," Tom covered his mouth with his hand, wincing but smiling. "That was a work thing, and you let me crash it? _Me_ , Greg? The boss?"

"You did kind of explicitly threaten to break my legs, remember?"

"Yeah, I try not to." Tom sighed, and then they were both quiet for a moment. Just as Greg was working up the courage to try and lighten the mood, Tom added, "Sorry about that."

"It's okay," Greg mumbled, and was surprised to find that he meant it. "It wasn't so bad when they left. I liked that movie that we watched afterwards."

"Of course you did, it was Road House." Tom chuckled. "But I do still feel a little bit bad for exiling you to the floor."

"Not for threatening to break my legs?" Greg teased, propping one elbow on the table and resting his chin in the palm of his hand. 

Tom's eyes seemed to dance with good humour. "That was implied."

Someone came to take their order shortly after that, and the rest of breakfast passed in a blur. The waffles were good; Greg couldn't remember how they'd tasted more than twenty years ago, but he assumed they had improved in quality. Tom seemed to enjoy his eggs benedict, too. It didn't escape Greg's attention that he'd ordered bacon as a side, not sausage. He guessed that Tom had been kind of put off by the sight of them after Hungary. A mix of gratitude and remorse pulled at Greg's gut, desperate to get out, but he didn't know how to articulate it.

He managed to blurt it out nearly forty minutes later, when they were walking down towards the coastal neighborhoods to find their way to Paul's address. "Thanks for coming with me. And for, I don't know, just being here. It's really nice of you."

Tom walked with his shoulders back, squinting through the sun. "No need to thank me, Gregory. Consider it an olive branch, extended on behalf of all of our various wrongdoings. Admittedly, there were more on my part."

They both trailed off into comfortable silence as they walked, looking out over the rows of docked houseboats, the water shining and rocking gently beneath them. It was an unfamiliar but nostalgic sight. Greg used to hate thinking about this place. About the way his father had walked out on them to live on one of the beaches that he had liked so much. The sea used to make him feel a deep, burning shame. The kind he couldn't bear to think about, let alone look at objectively.

It was beautiful to him, now, though. He'd forgiven it a long time ago.

\---

It was half-past noon when they finally found Paul's houseboat, a full thirty minutes ahead of schedule. The outside of the house was painted a kind of pastel, peachy colour, and it was one of the nicer looking ones on the dock. Greg was hesitant to walk up to the front door, not only because they were early, but because he knew he would have to behave like an emotionally adjusted adult throughout the entire visit. Willa had once told him that he was so bad at small talk he could probably win some kind of contest for it. 

After an uncomfortably long period of hesitation, Tom rolled his eyes and gave Greg a light push between his shoulders, his hand flat against his back. "Come on, get it over with."

Greg's feet stumbled forward, carried by Tom's words, and he knocked twice on the door. Then he realized there was a bell, so he rang it, hearing a muffled echo of the sound rippling through the house. Paul came to let them within the span of a minute, which made Greg feel a bit better that he was already and waiting for them.

Paul looked about the same that he did seventeen years ago, only with a few more wrinkles, and of course, Greg was now taller than him. He had wide glasses and a square face, and his toffee-blonde hair was still in good shape for a man his age. He smiled warmly, genuinely, when he saw them.

"Greg! Gosh, did you ever sprout up." Paul laughed, with all the familiarity of an estranged relative. "I'm glad you found the place okay, I know these houses all look the same."

"Hey, Paul, good to see you." Greg smiled back, offering his hand for a shake.

Paul did so firmly, then glanced over Greg's shoulder. "Who's this you brought with you?"

"Oh—" Greg felt himself blush, not really knowing how to explain that Tom had come along in case this had turned out to be a scheme of entrapment. "This is my friend Tom. He's— he's my friend. Sorry, I totally forgot to mention him in my email."

Tom shouldered past Greg, shooting him a pointed look, and offered his own hand for Paul to shake. "Tom Wambsgans. Thought I'd tag along. Good excuse for a vacation."

"Wambsgans, huh? That's a mouthful."

"Sure is," Tom grinned in the kind of way that only an expert on his behavioural mannerisms would know was forced. And Greg was an expert. "Ignore me, it'll be like I'm not even here. I'm just acting as his emotional support dog."

Paul glanced between the two of them, amused. "Well, that's nice of you. Come on in."

The inside of the houseboat was cozy— good quality wooden floors, an electric fireplace, a welcoming looking couch. Greg's eyes trailed up the living room staircase to the open top floor, where a ginger, short-haired cat was glaring down at the three of them.

"She might come down later," Paul said when he followed Greg's gaze. "Pepper's a little nervous around strangers."

Tom moved to stand by the stairs with his hands in his pockets, eyes fixed on the cat. Greg was worried he might intimidate the poor thing into running away, but the two of them seemed locked in some kind of standoff. Whether Tom wanted the cat to retreat or approach was unclear. Turning his attention back to Paul, Greg went through the motions of being a houseguest; politely taking a seat and refusing an offered beverage. The box of his father's belongings was sitting open on the coffee table in front of the couch, and it was bigger than Greg thought it would be.

"Oh, wow. Springsteen albums?" He leaned forward to inspect them, feeling a bit of a thrill. Finally, an excuse to buy himself a record player.

Paul smiled, looking wistful. "Yeah, your father was a big fan. He got me hooked on him, too. But I have the CDs, so I figured you could take these."

"I remember he used to have a mixtape with _Dancing in the Dark_ on it twice." Greg picked up the album sleeve, running his finger over the worn corner of it. "He would sing it so obnoxiously. My mom used to—"

Words faltering, Greg put the album back in the box. He felt like an idiot for bringing his mother up in front of Paul. Even worse, he felt incredibly guilty about going behind her back and coming to California in the first place. She deserved to know. She wouldn't have gotten mad at him for it, and he felt stupid for ever thinking she would.

Sending his gloom, Paul cleared his throat. "You know, you were one of the only people at his funeral that shook my hand. Your mother was the second."

Greg looked up at him, surprised.

"Believe me, there was no lost love between the two of us." Paul shrugged. "But she didn't hate me. Not the way his parents did. Hell, I was worried they were going to spit in my face when I read his eulogy."

"I'm sorry," Greg said, because there wasn't much else to say. "That must've been tough. It was really good of you to come, though. I mean, my dad loved you, he obviously would've wanted you there."

Paul smiled, misty eyed. "Well, he might've been the only one."

"That's not true," Greg blurted, and then embarrassedly added, "I was really glad you came. If you hadn't, I would've never known if the rumors about him were real or not."

Paul leaned back in his seat. "Well, he and your mother certainly had a bit of an adventurous phase before you came along. The stories he told me— I mean, I guess that's what happens when you come from crazy money like that."

It was at that moment that Tom decided to join the conversation. "Oh? I haven't heard about any of this."

Greg turned to shoot him an embarrassed look but it turned into one of confusion as he realized Tom was now holding the cat in his arms. Paul let out a startled laugh. "I guess Pepper likes you! Oh, my husband is going to be so jealous, she usually never lets anyone but him hold her like that."

Grinning, Tom cradled the cat closer to his chest. "Hear that, Greg? I'm irresistible."

Chuckling, Greg turned his attention back to Paul. "You're married, then? Congratulations, man, that's great."

"Thank you. Yeah, Dan and I are coming up on nine years, now." Paul's smile had gone completely soft, full of affection. "He's at work today, he told me to tell you hello. But what about you? I don't see any ring, but are you seeing anyone?"

"Oh, no." Greg's gaze fell to the floor. "Nothing serious."

"I find that hard to believe," Paul's tone was lightly teasing. "Shouldn't the girls be going crazy over you? You're so tall, and you've inherited your father's good looks."

Maybe it was the way Paul was radiating genuine kindness, the way his face looked so open and trustworthy, but Greg felt like he could tell him anything. Or maybe it was all the emotions that had been attached to this trip finally building up to a breaking point. Either way, Greg didn't think he could have stopped the following sentence from tumbling out of him. It was a confession pulled from the deepest pit of him, no matter how clumsily worded it might have been. 

"That's not all I inherited."

Blinking, Paul didn't seem to follow. It would've been so easy to just let the comment slide under the radar, to let it go unnoticed, but for some reason, Greg just couldn't seem to do it.

"It's not the girls' attention I have trouble getting." He sighed, lacing his fingers over his lap. "It's the guys. I'm, uh— I'm gay."

A small _thud_ sounded across the room as Pepper landed gracefully on her feet, Tom's arms slack at his sides. Greg was really hoping he hadn't dropped the cat in shock.

"Oh," Paul's eyebrows shot up. "I'm sorry for assuming."

"No, don't be." Greg laughed awkwardly. "I haven't actually, like, said it out loud that many times? I've known for a while, but I mean, I don't usually tell people like this."

"Everyone goes at their own pace," Paul said sagely. He looked visibly more relaxed now, and Greg understood why. "How old were you when you realized?"

"Twenty-one," Greg confessed, every word lifting off of him like a weight. "I was still in college. It was a little bit after I broke up with my first girlfriend. She kind of helped me get there."

"In a good way or a bad way?"

"Good, mostly. It was a lot to process, you know? What, with my dad's reputation and everything. I couldn't even tell my mom. I thought it would crush her. She ended up figuring it out on her own a few years ago, though. I feel like it didn't even disappoint her that much, since I was already kind of a screw up at that point."

When Greg dared a glance at Paul's face, he was overwhelmed by how sympathetic he looked. Tears pricked at his eyes and came spilling down his nose and cheeks so suddenly that he laughed again. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry. I'm unloading way too much on you. You were just trying to give me his stuff, and I thought I could be cool about it, but I'm obviously not. God, I'm sorry."

"Hey now, it's alright. It's only natural to cry after bottling that up for so long." Paul got up from his seat and grabbed a tissue from a Kleenex box that was sitting on top of one of the bookshelves behind them. He handed it to Greg with a kind smile. "I'm happy you told me. You couldn't tell him, but I'm glad you could tell me."

Greg nodded, wiping his face and blowing his nose in hasteful shame. Things were quiet for a long time before he finally sighed, laughing nervously in hopes of diffusing the embarrassment. "That was a very lifetime movie thing for me to do, huh?"

"A truly riveting performance," Tom piped up from the corner of the room, and Greg nearly jumped in surprise. He'd almost forgotten that Tom had been listening in on this entire conversation. "I'd be surprised if it didn't earn you an Emmy."

"Shut up." Greg mumbled nervously, turning to look at Tom with the same dread one might usually reserve for looking at a grisly accident.

But Tom looked fine. There wasn't a hint of anger, disappointment, or any other negative emotion hanging over his face. If anything, he looked softer, somehow. Gentle around the eyes. Blinking rapidly, Greg shook the last of his tears out of his system before he tried to talk to either of them again.

All things considered, the rest of the visit with Paul went rather smoothly. They swapped anecdotes on Greg's father, and even combed through one of the old photo albums with Tom, who got a great kick out of making fun of Greg's childhood fashion choices. Paul offered them some tea for a second time, and this time Greg accepted it, happy to have something warm after his previous emotional display. When it was quarter past four, Greg realized they might have been overstaying their welcome, and he thanked Paul for his hospitality profusely. Multiple times. To the point where Tom had to tell him to stop repeating it.

"Keep in touch, okay?" Paul shook his hand again before he left. "I'll add you on Facebook."

Greg didn't have the heart to tell him he hadn't used that website in over six years. It might've been overstepping, but he brought Paul into a hug, leaning down so that Paul's face didn't get completely buried in his chest. Paul hugged him back gently, clapping him on the ribs in a friendly way. It was so oddly gratifying that Greg almost cried again.

Afterwards, he and Tom walked back across the docked neighborhoods and towards the shoreline in silence. The sun was low in the sky, but it was still a long way from dusk.

"You could've told me, you know." Tom finally said, quiet and contemplative. "I feel like an ass."

Greg laughed, not able to meet his gaze. "I know this is gonna sound, like, objectively horrible and everything, but I couldn't risk Logan knowing."

Tom raked a hand over his face. "All the shitty jokes—"

"Tom, it's okay. Really, I'm used to it."

"But you shouldn't _have_ to be, Greg." He let out a frustrated sigh. "I'm sorry for being so obtuse."

Greg patted his shoulder, not sure how else to adequately forgive or excuse him. "It's okay."

That was when Tom did something that seemed to catch them both by surprise. He reached up and held Greg's hand where it was resting on his shoulder, so swiftly it might have been a reflex. As it happened, it occurred to Greg that he'd seen Tom do the same thing with Shiv before, when he was seated and she was standing behind him. He wasn't sure what to make of that, and Tom let go of him before he had time to really dwell on it.

For a full minute afterwards, Greg's hand burned as if Tom's touch had branded him. He wondered, vaguely, if Tom's hand felt the same.

\---

They decided to get an early dinner in before heading back to the hotel, and Greg let Tom pick the restaurant again. He picked a well-reviewed place off the internet again because _of course_ he had to know what was considered the best in town. Greg didn't really pay attention to the restaurant's name, but it was close to the coast and only took them about twenty minutes on foot to get to.

They had lobster and oysters, and some kind of deliciously cheesy soup. Tom paid for the whole thing, and Greg didn't try to fight him on it. He offered to pay for their ride back to the hotel and Tom took it as a fair trade.

While they were waiting outside for their Uber, Shiv called. Tom stayed on the phone with her for the entire drive, answering monosyllabically and nodding his head right until they were inside the hotel lobby. He gestured for Greg to go ahead to the elevators without him, and trying not to be awkward about it, Greg waved him goodnight.

He decided to make a call of his own once he'd made it back to his room. His mom answered on the last ring before her voicemail, sounding groggy but happy to hear from him. Greg told her everything, staring guiltily at the box of his father's things where he had set it down on the hotel room's desk. To his surprise, his mother didn't get mad, or even annoyed with him for electing not to tell her about it.

"I'm glad there's something left of him. I stopped being angry with him a long time ago. He's your father, Greg. You deserve to remember him."

Greg ended up crying again after they both hung up. It was just turning out to be one of those days. He wasn't sure how long he was sitting with his head in his hands, tears trailing onto his palms, before there was a knock at his door. He wiped his face on his sleeves and combed his hair out of his face with his fingers before going to answer it. Greg checked the peephole even though he knew it was going to be Tom standing out the hall.

"Hey," he cleared his throat as he opened the door, trying to keep his voice light and casual. "What's up?"

Tom looked sort of dazed for a second, and then he blinked, coming back into focus with a frown. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," Greg mumbled, embarrassedly fussing with his hair again. "I just— I called my mom and let her know. About my dad's stuff I mean. We don't normally talk about emotional things like this. So, uh, things got weepy."

"It's been a long day," Tom said, looking weary. "I guess I should probably just let you rest. We can talk tomorrow."

"Wait, hold on." Greg stepped towards him, crowding the space between Tom and the door. He didn't know what to make of him being so emotionally perceptive, let alone compassionate, when he clearly had something he wanted to say. "What's up?"

Tom's expression looked pained. His eyes fell to the floor, and then he laughed, presumably because he'd seen Greg's weed print patterned socks.

"Shiv just told me that as of next week, I'm resigning." Tom explained, contempt lacing every word. "Effective immediately. I'm part of the management cull Logan's going to make to show that the company is committed to change."

For a moment, Greg felt almost as angry as he had on Logan's yacht, when Roman had mockingly referred to his entire worth as a human being as a _sprinkle_.

"But you didn't do anything," Greg said stupidly. "You shouldn't have to take the fall."

"Oh, Shiv had it all framed so nicely for me. But the fact is, I go out looking like an oblivious putz with appallingly awful managerial oversight, and Cyd keeps her raptor claws in ATN just like she and Logan wanted."

"After we cleaned the place up for them." Greg felt a sharp stab of resentment. "Those assholes."

"Easy," Tom said, though his heart clearly wasn't in it. "That's my wife you're talking about."

Greg was too annoyed to keep himself from scoffing. "Well, Tom, your wife's an asshole sometimes. And a thief, she never paid me back for that fucking vending machine."

Tom scrunched his eyebrows together. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"It's nothing, nevermind." Greg leaned back against the wall, glaring at the ceiling with all the fury he wished he had the guts to direct onto his extended family. "I'm just, like, really mad right now? I'm angry— I've been angry for months."

"I imagine I had something to do with some of that."

"Kind of," Greg admitted meekly, then added, "But still, you don't deserve to get hung out to dry like this. You wouldn't have covered up for cruises if it wasn't what _they_ told you to do."

And in that moment, Greg realized something. There was always going to be _us_ and there was always going to be _them_. He and Tom weren't Roys— it didn't matter how close they came to it through blood and marriage. They were never going to get to their level, no matter how rich they got. They were new money imposters and outsiders, sheep among wolves.

"At least you can start over, now." Greg offered this silver lining to Tom as gently as he could. "You can get out. Just leave Waystar behind and never look back." 

Tom gave him a sad look that was mingled with both fondness and incredulity. "Where would I even go? Back to St. Paul with my tail between my legs? A forty-two year old divorcé? Fuck that."

Greg suddenly felt like he'd been knocked over by a pile of bricks. He stood up to his full height and then stumbled a little, his balance literally thrown by Tom's statement. "You're getting divorced?"

There was a stretch of silence that was not quite comfortable. It didn't help that Tom's gaze kept flickering from Greg's eyes to his mouth. "I've been thinking about it."

 _What the fuck does that mean?_ Greg wanted to ask, but what he ended up saying was, "Oh."

"I should've listened to you." Tom stepped further into the room, massaging his temples as he took a seat on the corner of the bed. "You warned me. On my goddamn wedding day, you warned me. I should've gotten an annulment."

Greg still hadn't forgotten the look on Tom's face after he had pushed him to the ground on the morning of his wedding. "Is she— is she still cheating on you?"

A weird, sad laugh bubbled out of Tom. "Yes and no. I don't really want to get into it, but she twisted my arm into an open marriage, and it's an arrangement that seems suspiciously one-sided. And she doesn't love me. At least not the way I'd like to be loved."

Hesitantly, Greg sat down next to him. Tom didn't even seem to register the closeness, so Greg took that as an indication that it was okay to pat him on the back. He hoped that he could somehow convey something apologetic and comforting through two gentle taps.

Sighing, Tom buried his face in his hands, leaning over with his elbows on his knees. "She told Logan not to tank me on the yacht, but she's sending me packing anyway. It was never about looking out for my best interests, it's always about her plan, what makes her look good. I just don't understand how I can mean so little to her."

"I'm sorry, man." Greg said quietly. "That's pretty fucked up."

"I'm not perfect, I know I'm not." Tom sat up straight, and looked Greg right in the eye. "But I'd like to think that I have things to offer. That I'm not completely insignificant."

"You're not," Greg felt a rush of emotion that he couldn't contain, an overwhelming need to make Tom feel better. "You're a really good guy. You're funny, you're smart, you're, uh— you're a valuable company asset. And if Shiv can't see that, then I'm sorry, but she's an idiot. Who even needs her anyways? You can do so much better."

"Better than Shiv? Shiv Roy?" Tom laughed dryly, darkly. "Come on, buddy, I think we both know I'm shooting miles above my pay grade."

"You can do better," Greg said again, adamantly. "You _deserve_ better."

Tom narrowed his eyes, not quite smiling. "Who died and made you my self-help guru?"

"I'm just trying to be a good friend. I'm trying to tell you the truth."

"I told you not to do that," Tom leaned backwards until he was lying down, his eyes fixed on the ceiling. " _Trust no one_ , remember? I guess that came back and bit me in the ass."

It would've been easy to lie down next to him. Greg wondered if Tom would pull away if he did. He wondered what Tom would do if he lined himself up over top of him, pinning him to the spot. He wondered what might happen if he tried to kiss him.

"We should stay another night," Tom said, dragging Greg out of his embarrassing train of thought. "Fuck it, let's go hiking in the red woods. I could give or take a trip to the city, but it'd be such a waste not to visit the park when it's right there."

"I kind of told Kendall that I'd fly back tomorrow," Greg bit his lip, not wanting to disappoint anyone, least of all himself. "Do you think he'd mind if pushed it back another night?"

Tom sat up halfway, propped up on one elbow. "I think you _deserve_ it."

"Ha ha," Greg said dryly, not remotely impressed by Tom's nasally imitation of his own voice. "I'll just text him."

"We should watch Star Wars while we wait for the verdict," Tom suggested, suddenly back in good spirits. "I mean, it's Endor, Greg. We're less than forty minutes away from the land of the Ewoks."

Greg smiled, not able to help himself from teasing. "Really nerdy that you know that, Tom."

"Everybody knows that, Greg. Read a fucking book. Read the goddamn wikipedia page."

"I believe it's pronounced _Wookie_ -pedia."

"Well, who's the nerd now?"

They ended up watching Return of The Jedi on Greg's laptop, propped between their knees as they sat back on the bed. Greg got peckish halfway through the first act and made a trip to the vending machine in the hallway, and he and Tom pigged put on various single-sized bags of chips for the rest of the movie, making a mess of crumbs on the bed. Tom also encouraged him to crack into the mini-bar, which was sparse, seeing as it was a Holiday Inn. They split a six pack of Budweisers between them, and it felt nice to just gouge out on something cheap. To be in such a moderately priced hotel, eating three-dollar chips and beer. It almost felt like being back in college, Greg thought, only with a notable lack of marijuana.

Kendall still hadn't replied to his text by the time the movie was over. Somehow, Tom encouraged Greg to put on The Empire Strikes Back. _A marathon in reverse_ , he called it. But it was getting late, and both of them were losing steam. Tom started dozing before Luke even made it to Dagobah.

"I guess I should get out of your hair," he mumbled after he first nodded off, though he didn't seem to be in any hurry to move. "Just give me a shake if I close my eyes again."

Greg said that he would. Tom passed out a few minutes later, still sitting up on his elbows, his head lolling sideways into the pillows he'd set up behind him. As carefully and quietly as he could manage, Greg swept the crumbs off of the bed, then moved his laptop. He went to the bathroom to change into his pajamas, brush his teeth and take a leak, and when he came back, Tom was still down for the count.

Maybe it was the weight of the day catching up with him, or maybe it was the fact Tom had come to him earlier seeking company, but Greg didn't have the heart to wake him up and send him back up to his own room. The fact that he was a little more than tipsy from drinking two and a half beers also might have influenced this decision. Greg plugged his phone in to charge, and then gently moved to take off Tom's shoes. Tom didn't stir, he only leaned back and slumped into a full reclining position, one of the pillows falling over his shoulder. Greg took it as his own, and settled in next to him on the mattress, lying as close to the edge as he possibly could without falling off.

Tom started snoring before Greg managed to get to sleep. It sounded an awful lot like the rumbling engine of an older car. Greg was surprised to find that didn't mind the sound at all. It was oddly soothing. It reminded him that he wasn't alone.

\---

He woke to the sound of his phone vibrating against the hotel night stand. Since he hadn't set an alarm, Greg groggily realized it must've been a phone call. Blinking rapidly to clear the sleep from his eyes, Greg nearly hissed out a curse when he saw that the call was from Kendall, who had obviously forgotten the time difference between them, seeing as it wasn't even six a.m. He quickly swiped his thumb across the screen to pick up.

"Hello?" Greg whispered into the receiver as he sat up, glancing nervously over his shoulder. Tom was still there, now lying on his side. Apparently, he hadn't been roused at all by the sound of the phone.

Kendall's voice was calm and even. "Hey, man. What's up? I've been trying to get ahold of you for a couple hours."

"Yeah, sorry." Greg mumbled as he rubbed his eye, yawning under his breath. "I was asleep. Did you get my text about staying the extra day? Do you need me to come back?"

"No, no. I texted you— you can take another day off, that's fine. I'm, uh, I'm calling to ask about Tom. Shiv's worried."

"Tom?" Greg looked at the man in question, still unconscious at his side "Uh, why? What's wrong?"

"I don't know exactly. Shiv said that he kind of went AWOL. He just left his office a few days ago and didn't come back. He told her he was visiting his parents or something, but she talked to his mom and found out he wasn't there. Anyways, she just showed up at my place looking for him, and started accusing me of hiding him away and conspiring against her and dad. I don't know what the fuck she was thinking, honestly, but I guess she's pretty freaked out that he lied to her. She left a little while ago to see if Roman knew anything. I know you guys are close, so I thought you might know where he is."

Before Greg could say anything, he felt something poking his back. Turning around, he saw that Tom was awake, leaning up slightly and fixing him with a questioning glare. He whispered, "Who are you talking to?"

Ignoring him, Greg addressed Kendall. "So, is Shiv going to file a missing person's report, or—?"

Kendall scoffed a little. "Not if you know where he is."

"I'm, uh, not sure I'm at liberty to say." Greg looked at Tom, who appeared to be very slowly cluing into the context of the phone call.

"I appreciate your noble intentions, Greg, but Shiv's my sister, okay? I've gotta help her out."

"Give me the phone," Tom made beckoning gesture with his hand, and Greg complied, handing it over. Tom cleared his throat before he spoke, sounding forcefully composed. "Hey, Ken, it's Tom."

Greg couldn't hear what Kendall said in response, just the muffled sound of his voice coming from his phone's tinny speaker. Tom made a face, sort of pouting. Greg spent the next few minutes listening to Tom's half of the conversation, nervously plucking at the hotel comforter. 

"I've been with Greg the whole time, yeah. Don't get mad at him, it was a good excuse to get out of town… Look, I didn't mean to scare her, I just— I needed to get away for a while. You know they're kicking me out of ATN… Yep, management cull… Of course it was his idea… Uh huh... No, Shiv didn't say… Yeah, yeah I've heard about that… I don't know, Ken… "

There was a long stretch of silence where Tom listened intently to whatever Kendall was saying, his expression grave. When he finally spoke again, it was hard to gauge what kind of expression crossed over his face. "I'll think about it."

He handed the phone back to Greg a second later. Greg anxiously took it. "Hello?"

Kendall was using his business voice. "Greg, I'm gonna need you to get Tom on our team. Talk about our game plan, reel him in. We could use someone like him at the big table if this all works out. Believe it or not, having him on board might carry some weight in the eyes of the shareholders. You know, sticking it to my Dad's plans."

"Uh, okay?" Greg glanced over at Tom, who was staring at the wall ahead of them, lost in thought. "I'll do what I can."

"Okay, I'm gonna let you go. I'll tell Shiv he's in California but I'll leave your name out of it, alright?"

"Thanks, man." Greg sighed in relief. "Sorry I didn't say anything about Tom being here."

"You're just being a good friend. You're loyal, Greg, that's a good thing to be. Talk to you later."

"Bye." Greg said, and then he set his phone down on his knee.

Tom turned to look at him, brows creased. "Why didn't you wake me up last night?"

Embarrassed, Greg didn't know how to answer that.

"And you took off my shoes," Tom's voice was low, and unusually soft. "How domestic of you."

"You looked comfortable," Greg lied, and Tom made a face. "You did! I didn't want to, like, disturb you or anything."

"Well, I appreciate the thought, but I am paying for my own room. Might as well use it." Tom stretched, cracking his back as he did. "I slept like a baby, though."

"Me, too." Greg confessed sheepishly.

Tom reached over and slapped his knee. "I'm gonna go clean myself up. Let's rendezvous for breakfast in about an hour, shall we?"

"Sounds good." Greg agreed, lying back and falling against the pillows.

"Don't fall asleep again! I don't want to have to pound on the door." Tom warned him, and Greg waved him away dismissively. He was unconscious again within seconds after the door clicked shut.

An hour later, he woke to the sound of his phone ringing again, only this time it was Tom calling him from the hallway. Greg scrambled to get dressed quickly, and poked his head out the door to ask where they were headed, but Tom surprised him by admitting he wasn't in the mood to go out to eat. They made their way downstairs and helped themselves for an exceedingly non-glamorous continental breakfast.

"So, Kendall wants to pull you in?" Greg asked, twirling his spoon in his bowl of cheerios.

"Looks like it," Tom replied, wincing after taking a sip of his coffee. "I think he'd probably change his tune if he knew I was considering divorcing his sister."

Grimly, Greg nodded in agreement. "It's too bad. It would've been cool to work with you again. To shake the place up together. Make 'em pay."

Tom smiled, almost pitifully. "You know, there's no guarantee Kendall's coup is going to work. The family might lose control of the entire company."

"Well, high risk is said to bring high rewards." Greg half shrugged, taking a bite of the croissant he'd gotten on the side. "But if it doesn't work out, honestly, it's kind of a relief? If I wasn't so stressed about, like, my own financial standing, I'd have left ages ago. I wanted to quit after the first month at cruises, to be honest. It was a lot."

"Sorry for that."

"Well, it wasn't exactly your mess. You just, you know, got me roped into it."

"And now look at you! The right hand man in a corporate takeover." Tom leaned back in his seat, grinning. "The student has become the master."

Smiling at the reference, Greg raised an eyebrow. "Does that make me Vader in this metaphor?"

"Oh, no way. Maybe Logan's Vader."

"Dude, Logan's totally Palpatine."

"Shit, you've got me there. Wait a minute, you're R2! That's what I told Shiv, once."

Greg desperately wanted to know the context for that conversation, but he let it slide. "Well then you're C3-P0. Only you snore like Chewbacca."

Tom laughed, loud and true, and it made Greg's neck flush with warmth. "It didn't keep you up did it? My snoring?"

Shaking his head, Greg reached across the table and stole an orange slice off of Tom's plate. "No, no, I was out like a rock. It was kind of like having a white noise machine on."

For some indiscernible reason, Tom didn't stop smiling for a really long time after that.

\---

The red woods were beautiful, of course. Greg had never been before, at least not any time he could remember. He took lots of pictures and Tom teased him mercilessly for it, even though he was the one who kept excitedly going on about all the movies filmed on location.

"These trees are almost as tall as you." Tom joked at one point, and Greg rolled his eyes even though it was the first crack about his height he'd heard in ages that didn't make him feel self conscious about it. Maybe the fact that Tom was only a measly three inches shorter than him had something to do with that.

"Let's take a picture with Endor," Greg suggested, holding his camera up for a selfie. "Come on, I promise not to post it."

"I'll hold you to that. I look ridiculous, I'm wearing a blazer on a hike. Serves me right for not packing an overnight bag with clothes for every occasion."

The first photo was blurry and their smiles looked a bit forced and awkward. But the second one was nice.

Tom put his hand on Greg's shoulder while they checked the quality of the image, leaning well into Greg's personal space. "Oh, my hair looks awful."

"It's not as bad as mine," Greg said defensively, and also abashedly. "I should probably get it cut again."

"I like it shorter," Tom agreed, reaching up and touching where it was overgrown on the nape of Greg's neck. "It suits you."

Skin feeling hot, Greg didn't move away. He let Tom's hand linger there for longer than what might have been considered appropriate, his heart thundering in his chest. Tom clapped his shoulder before retreating, like he knew that he'd slipped up and was trying to restore the feeling of easy comradery.

"Come on, let's go see if we can find the spot where they filmed that scene from Jurassic Park."

\---

It could've just been the knowledge that Tom was thinking of a divorce, or maybe the fact that he'd finally come out to him, but something felt different. Ever since they'd had that awkward conversation on the baseball field at Logan's birthday party, there'd been a bizarre tension in the air between them. Even more bizarrely, Greg had just sort of gotten used to it. For the first two weeks of knowing Tom, Greg couldn't tell if Tom was actually hitting on him or if he was just being _weird_ about being in a position of power over him, something he just wasn't used to as he'd spent however many years dating Shiv and working at the company at the bottom of the Roy family foodchain. Greg had eventually come to the conclusion that it was the latter, but every now and then Tom would do something that challenged that.

Like buying him suits, cologne, and furniture for his apartment. Like taking him to the Hamptons for a weekend on a whim because Shiv was out of town, and he felt bad that Greg hadn't been there for the meeting with the Pierce family. Like the dinners, and the matinees, and all the fancy art galleries. Most perplexingly, was when he had asked Greg to be his assistant again throughout the entirety of the Agrestes trip, just so he could bring him along.

Then there was the fact that he was here, with Greg, touring around the San Francisco Bay area, and he hadn't told his wife about it. That was the kind of thing that raised some questions.

After their hike, they crossed the bridge and had a late lunch in the city, at a restaurant with a vaguely French sounding name that Greg couldn't pronounce. Tom paid, insisted on it, so Greg got the tip. Kendall called again while they were waiting for the cheque, and told Greg he was sending his plane out to pick them up around noon the next day. _A show of good faith_ , he said, which was code for _I'm trying to butter Tom up_.

It was still nice of him, anyways. More than a little careless towards the environment, but greed was a hard sin to kick, and Greg wasn't about to spend hundreds of dollars on a flight home when he had the option to ride back for free. He could practically feel his grandpa sneering at him all the way from Canada.

"I don't know why Ken thinks I'd be of any use. He's probably just trying to piss Logan off, hiring me back." Tom said a bit sullenly, after they'd paid for their meal and were meandering aimlessly down the city street. "The fuck am I gonna manage if his little power play works out? He'd never make me C.O.O, C.F.O, or anything that starts with a C."

"I think I'll get a C." Greg confessed, maybe a bit too optimistically. "A man can dream."

"I envy you. I'm thoroughly disillusioned. My wall street dreams have spent the last decade falling from the top of the building, and now they've finally hit the pavement. There's bits of skull and membrane skattered everywhere."

"Thomas," said Greg, pausing dramatically. "How about we decide to not talk about work for the rest of the evening?"

"Gregory," Tom answered with an equally dramatic tone. "That's the best idea you've had all day."

Greg checked his watch, and decided that it was a perfectly reasonable time to start drinking. "Let's find a place to get wasted."

Brows raised, Tom looked at him appealingly. "I take it back. _That's_ the best idea you've had all day."

After googling locations in a way that seemed drastically uncool, they did manage to find a club that had some energy, despite it being early evening and a weeknight. The neon lighting and overwhelming bass was oddly comforting. Greg wondered if rich people partied so much to drone out all the guilt they ought to feel about being rich.

He scored three joints off of a girl with a nose piercing that was hanging out near the bar while Tom was off looking for a bathroom. Greg lit up outside, huffing quickly so that Tom wouldn't realize he was missing for long.

When Greg found him in the crowd again, Tom leaned forwards and shamlessly gave him a sniff. He pulled back with a grin. "You holding out on me?"

Feeling stupid, Greg offered him one of the blunts, and they smoked the next one outside together, watching the sunset from the alley behind the club.

By the time they made it back across the bay and to the hotel, Greg was pleasantly buzzed. He hadn't overdone it, and the world felt comfortable, warm and hazy. Apparently Tom got quiet when he was stoned, his silence only interrupted by the occasional comment or a low, bumbling laugh. It was nice. Greg was feeling so breezy that he almost forgot to pay for the taxi.

"Thanks again for coming on this trip," Greg said, once he and Tom were alone in the elevator. "It's actually been pretty fun. Without you, I probably would've been bummed out the entire time."

"Happy to help." Tom tilted his head back and signed. "It was nice to take a break for a little while."

When they got to Greg's floor, Tom walked him to his room, even though he didn't really need to. He made no move to follow Greg inside after he unlocked the room with his key card, so Greg paused, standing slouched in the doorway.

He new he was staring. He couldn't help it. "I'm really glad you came."

Tom smiled gently, looking slightly confused by the comment. "I'm glad, too."

Greg contained to stare at him. Tom stared back. There was something about the look in his eyes. Greg was really hoping he wasn't imagining it, because it seemed like Tom was waiting for something.

He blinked once, then leaned his head down, purposefully slow. He let his eyes wander over Tom's face so that he could pretend he was looking at a stray eyelash if Tom said anything or pushed him away. Tom didn't, so Greg kissed him.

It felt the way that first kisses usually do— exciting, unfamiliar, and a little awkward. Hesitantly, Greg moved his lips so that it wasn't just a peck, waiting to see what Tom would do. Tom's mouth parted against his own, and then slowly, eagerly, he kissed back. Greg's head spun. He leaned into it, bringing one hand up to cradle Tom's face.

And then Tom pulled back, eyes wide and pupils blown. Greg's gaze flickered to his open mouth and stayed fixated on his bottom teeth for a moment too long. Snapping his gaze up, Greg swallowed, his throat suddenly dry.

Inhaling deeply, Tom clenched one hand at his side, and then reached up and folded it on top of the one Greg was resting on his cheek. For a moment, Greg thought he was going to pull it away. Instead, Tom pressed it tightly, sliding his thumb down over Greg's wrist.

"Would you do that again?" Tom asked, though it was more of a command than a question.

And Greg was very good at doing what he was told.

\---

Sometime before dawn, Greg woke up to the shadowed sight of the dark hotel room. Tom's legs were tangled with his own under the sheets, a square hand planted firmly on his hip. He could feel the rise and fall of his hairy chest against his ribs. It took him a second to remember everything, and when he did, he rolled over so that he was facing Tom instead of just letting him jetpack. Unfortunately, the movement woke Tom up as well, and he pulled his hand away almost instinctively.

"Hey," Greg whispered, looping an arm around Tom's waist. "Don't go too far."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Tom mumbled. "I'm already in fucking Sausalito."

Giggling, Greg felt half delerious. The irony of the entire situation was not lost on him. In his mind, this had always been his father's town. The place he had his affairs in.

Tom yawned, tucking his head under Greg's chin, his lips ghosting over Greg's throat. "What brought this on, anyways? Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. I'm just curious."

After a moment's consideration, Greg hummed quietly. "You asked if I would."

"What?"

"You asked if I would kiss you," Greg squeezed him gently. "The day we met. Remember?"

"Oh," Tom murmured. "That's right, I guess I did."

Things were quiet again for a few minutes. Greg assumed that Tom had fallen back to sleep. He was trying to do the same himself when he heard Tom mumble something again, his voice quiet and heavy. "Took you long enough."

Smiling, Greg closed his eyes and drifted off.

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who's wondering, yes, the pizza _was_ a metaphor for Greg. Thank you for reading!


End file.
